[color=orange][h1][center][u][b]The Dreamer[/b][/u][/center][/h1][/color] [center][i]-Neu Alamut, Pandjoras-[/i][/center] [hr] [center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/667651180872204299/1046564470136254534/Solgriev_black_sand_black_sand_dunes_floating_arabic_palaces_du_ee72e399-48ec-4b75-bb70-8e78c8cbc888.png[/img][/center] [hr] Darkness, writhing and scaly, surrounded his visage in a whirlpool around him. A tempest built of slithering, serpentine creatures that flowed as liquid in an unending torrent. Incorporeal bodies that hissed rhythmically in a bizarre dance, capering to an unknown tune. Their movements obscured any conceivable source of light, permeating even the sky above from his sight. [i]He is their focal point.[/i] Despite this, their darkness was as welcome as one’s own home. Their encircling dance posed no form of malice. Each one of their ethereal bodies swam through the air to protect him. Every one of their slitted, orange eyes never faltered from staring directly at him. Their predatory gazes held only a silent warmth. [i]He is under their protection.[/i] He reached out to touch their scaled forms only to find his fingers shorter than he had ever imagined before. Not since the earliest days of his being had he seen such a small hand. The writhing cyclone responded to his wishes, enclosing around him in a slow, deliberate manner. His tiny digits brushed against the beautiful, umbral scales of the serpentine masses. Each of the ethereal serpents pushed against one another to be acknowledged by their protected one. He felt his lips turn upward as they rushed to his hands. [i]He is their master.[/i] It dawned upon him that they reacted to his will as if puppeted by invisible strings through an unknown nexus. He let out a laugh, a bubbling and incoherent sound. The writhing mass chortled in a flurry of hisses and snorts uncharacteristic of their apparent forms. He moved his hands in random patterns, watching as the obsidian torrent moved and flew to his desires. He clapped his hands together in appreciation of their efforts. Inhuman, predatory smiles revealed rows of fangs as they responded to his acknowledgments. [i]He is something more.[/i] His visage swiveled to the land before him and beheld black sand that was unknown to his gaze. Slowly, he picked himself up from his seated position in the midst of the tempest. He turned his attention upward. The swarm acquiesced to his demands, unveiling the sky above to their protected one. An eternal dusk greeted his gaze, darkened even further by rows of bloated clouds. Across several patches, the sight of the greater beyond peaked through to reveal the twinkling abyss. He understood what they were without any further consideration. A smile, toothy and wide, broke across his lips. [i]He wishes for the abyss beyond his gaze.[/i] A handful of enormous, celestial objects curved across the sky in a slow orbit. Illuminated globes of incomparable size shone through the perpetual dusk of the outstretched land in his view. He basked in the light of the abyssal globes. A hand raised to wave apart the writhing swarm. They hissed and roiled in protest to keep their precious prisoner within their fold; however, he would submit to their will. A sound emitted from his lips, an attempt at communication that reverberated several times over as if echoing into a small chamber. Instinctually, the serpents parted away to reveal the landscape that stretched out before him. [i]He will claim everything for himself.[/i] The black sand beneath his feet continued on for an incomprehensible length, interrupted only by pools of aetheric liquid. Across the landscape, large stones of crackling energy floated in the air through powers unknown to him. Enormous, tidal dunes stood as mountains that separated what he could and could not view. Immediately in front of him, an enormous pool of the unknown liquid coagulated. Those slithering, hissing forms continued to emerge from the fluid. Behind him, a casket made of unknown metal lay broken and destroyed by an unknown assailant. Hanging in the sky, far beyond the rocks, flew a gargantuan structure of impossible engineering. [i]He will create things beyond imagination.[/i] He marveled at the impossibility of the structure for only a moment before turning his attention back to the aetheric lake. He walked forward towards it, the writhing mass following him as if he were the center of a storm. His knees sunk to the ground as he gazed into the depths of the liquid. It offered his reflection as a sublime reward. A tanned, youthful face with orange, serpentine eyes stared back at him. Internally, he began to panic as he realized that he was not staring at his own face. The reflection tilted it’s head in confusion before reaching out with one of it’s small hands. He felt an incomprehensible pull towards the reflection, reflecting the movement to touch the outstretched hand. [i]He is the Promised One.[/i] Suddenly, violently, his vision distorted into a whirlpool of darkness unlike that of the writhing masses. Yanked from the abyss, he drowned with an inaudible scream. He felt a bewildering pull as if his very existence was drawn through the fabric of reality. Fortunately, within the realm of his mind, it was only a short trip. His eyes snapped open to behold the sights around him. His old body shot up in panic, a hand suddenly grasping the apparatus attached to his face for verification. Cold, shaped metal greeted his draconic, tanned hands. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, passing through the automatic filtration system installed into the facial device. Muahad, the name his people had given him, pushed his body from the slab that he called a bed. His eyes fervently scanned each meter of the room, quickly verifying that he was not stuck in the vision that he had witnessed. Satisfied, his legs brought him to the closest window in the chamber. Environmentally sealed from the black deserts, the Old Man gazed into the eternal dusk of his homeworld. His dreary reflection confirmed his identity. A tall, lanky figure garbed in a dark, compressed scale robe appeared before him. A skeletal mask covered his facial features, interrupted only by a pair of unnaturally incandescent azure eyes. He turned away from the window as he heard the quiet steps of his asasiyuns approaching the door at the furthest edge of the chamber. The sound of groaning, hissing mechanics announced their arrival. A single individual entered, garbed in the traditional robes of compressed scale and dark hues natural for their culture. Beneath the attire, however, the entity wore an impressive suit of extremely lithe powered armor covered in a variety of hairline piping. The guest clasped his hands together and dropped to one knee before Muahad. “Muahad, I apologize for interrupting your rest. Pandjoras knows you require your rest, but I come bearing news of our scouting ventures beyond Neu Alamut.” The man spoke in a rhythmic voice, a tone filled with the natural trill of the Pandjoran language. His features were hidden beneath a smooth, scaled cowl; however, Muahad could easily see his orange, serpentine eyes bare to the world. “You’ve arrived adeptly, Nakim.” The Old Man spoke, his voice as gravely as the oldest chunk of rock on Pandjoras. Each word was spoken deeply and intently. His tone projected decades of wisdom and draconic knowledge. Only the apparatus stuck to his voice added a faint staticness to his words. “A vision has become clear.” The final words confused the arriving asasiyun, Nakim, who picked himself up from the ground at the mention of a vision. He knew that the Old Man of the Mountain held insights into inspirations beyond their capacity. The prophetic dreams from the Unifier of Pandjoras had always been heeded. So too would this one. He dared not speak to interrupt Muahad. The elder, noticing the silence, continued. “From beyond the cosmos, he shall come. He speaks in words spoken from the aetheric tides. By right of his existence, he claims the black sand and dominates the void serpents of Pandjoras. He bears the marks of eternity. He is promised to us, but we shall hold no sway over him.” The Old Man of the Mountain spoke, closing his eyes to reminisce on the vision that he had awoken from. Nakim felt the air grow still from the revelation gifted to him. His breathing became sharp at the thoughts of a ‘promised one’. A gauntleted hand reached up to his face, covering his mouth in thought. “Then it is fated, Muahad. I’ve come bearing news of a child found out in the black sands, nearest to the Aether Lake. The void serpents encircled the child like a storm. He appeared to the command it with his voice alone. Several of the hassan felt compelled by the child’s enunciations.” Nakim spoke in a rapid voice, relaying the information as quickly as possible. To Muahad, the man appeared to be unraveling at an unprecedented rate. He released a sigh of disappointment, crossing the distance between them to lay a hand on the asasiyun’s shoulder. “[i]Oneness.[/i]” Nakim visibly deflated as his breathing calmed to the point of silence, his eyes closing to the world around him. The erratic air around the asasiyun disappeared as if it had never appeared. Wordlessly, the Pandjoran turned away from the Old Man of the Mountain to exit the room. There was no need for excessive words between the two as Muahad followed after through the corridors into Neu Alamut. Muahad stepped out onto the orange, serpent-silk carpets lining the gravitic stone structure that was their citadel. The duo continued to pass beneath arches decorated with sculpted forms of void serpents and roiling dunes. Each corner held carefully sculpted, ophidian pillars with archaic glowglobes attached to the top. Black sand, coarse and rough, remained scattered in spontaneous amounts no matter the destination. Passing hassan dipped their heads in respect to the Old Man, offering a short salam before attending to their duties. Every Pandjoran they passed, despite their role, wore the traditional dusken robes of compressed serpent-silk. The pair of Pandjorans stepped out onto a balcony overlooking an atrium fit to house a hundredfold men. A domed roof hung over their heads, ornately decorated with an intricate map of Pandjoras’ known regions. Glowglobes chandeliers lit each corner of the spherical chamber, while penumbra stalk incense lingered in thick wisps from ceramic censers. At the center of the room stood a handful of black robed hassan with a single, quickly garbed child in the midst of them. Their armored boots, minus the child’s, were planted over a wealth of black sand that covered the carefully laid brick of Neu Alamut. “As it was fated, wished upon a thousand and one grains of black sand.” The Old Man of the Mountain spoke quietly, despite his intensely deep voice threatening to shatter the ears of Nakim. Muahad felt himself perspire as he and the other Pandjoran walked down the ascenders to the ill-fated child and his escorts. He felt nothing short of awe at the sight of the child; however, he claimed a face of neutrality beneath the skeletal mask. The hassan dropped down to their knees as he closed the distance between the ascender and the anomalous adolescent. “You have traveled far, dreamer.” Muahad stepped closer to the child, who raised their hands up in an effort to be hoisted. The elder offered a single, deep chortle before acquiescing to the demands of the adolescent. Each hassan began to shift, approaching to take on the role offered, but Muahad waved them off. Lifting the child from the black sand of the atrium, the Old Man beheld the sight of his envisioned ‘promised one’. “What should we do with him, Muahad?” Nakim voiced the concern of every Pandjoran gathered around him. “He shall become hassan.” The answer was simple and resolute. The tone of the Old Man of the Mountain’s voice was unflinching as he stared into the orange, serpentine eyes of the child in his hands. “And what would you name him?” “[color=orange][b]Zaphariel[/b][/color] - the Promised Dreamer.”